


right now

by imaginarybarista



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay, Spanking, but he misses harry and harry misses him, louis pouts to get his way, so harry spanks him to snap him out of it, sugar baby!louis, sugar daddy! au, sugar daddy!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-08
Updated: 2013-12-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 02:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1075559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginarybarista/pseuds/imaginarybarista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sugar Daddy AU where Louis pouts to get his way. But he misses Harry being sweet to him, and Harry misses cuddly Louis. Harry decides to take action. (Except he's also a sap and is pleased when Louis's pleased... so Lou may just get his way.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	right now

**Author's Note:**

> There are honestly only like 2 sugar daddy aus in this fandom, a problem pointed out by a few tumblr users. So I have dropped a tag/ficlet in bottombunklouis's tumblr (go check her out because she's fabulous), and then may or may not have written for my own promptish thing. Hope you like it!  
> [the song is track 9 on mm, cowritten with liam louis harry and RYAN TEDDER of onerepublic *commence superfangirling*]

Louis’s curled up on the sofa with his Mac one evening when he sees the tickets go online.

 

He’s had a very good day: Harry let him blow him this morning, then Harry worked from home today so Louis got to try to make him stutter through conference calls. Harry had taken him out to dinner at this new place, where they were welcomed despite the four month waiting period for reservations.

 

They’d drunk champagne because Louis had spied the kind with gold flakes in it and given Harry his best puppy eyes. The alcohol has made Louis a little sleepy, and he’s happily browsing the internet when the ticket alert pops up.

 

Earlier, he’d hung up his custom suit Harry bought him a few months ago in his closet and put on his favorite sweatpants. Every time Louis wore them, Harry would tsk about buying him new ones, muttering that he could buy Louis nicer newer ones, but always managed to forget to throw them away. Louis has a theory that it’s because of his tendency to skip wearing boxers when he wears them.

 

The Mac (a present after Louis gave Harry framed photobooth portraits for his birthday) is humming almost silently in his lap. He’s sitting pretzel-style on the couch in the frayed gray pants and his glasses, wearing one of Harry’s t-shirts-- the white kind that is the layer closest to his skin when he wears them under work shirts and blazers and suit-jackets, the kind that are soft thanks to expensive fabric softener and smell good because of Harry and the cologne he wears.

 

He clicks on the alert and is brought to OneRepublic’s tour date site. The newest European dates pop up, as well as links to the venues they’ll be playing and ticket purchasing information. He peeps his eyes up at Harry, who’s at the opposite end of the sofa with his own Mac.

 

His curls are falling into his face and Harry absent-mindlessly pushes them back and holds them as he scrolls and reads, scrolls and reads. Occasionally he types, but Louis knows that if he stares for too long then Harry almost always looks up.

 

He flicks his eyes back down again, clicks a link for London tickets. The prices come up and they’re decent, but he sees that VIP tickets are still available. They’re way out of his price range. He’s currently in his fourth year of uni, second semester. He’s finished all his classes, this semester he just has his internship and thesis to submit. But the internship is minimum wage, he only works four days a week, and he still has student debt.

 

This relationship with Harry took some getting used to, and at first Louis felt uncomfortable the first time Harry took him with him on a business trip to Switzerland, but after Harry has explained that he loves doing things for Louis and likes spoiling him, he’s grown accustomed to being given random, frequent, and occasionally generous gifts. He tries to offer things in return... mostly not of a monetary value, but Harry appreciates them all the same.

 

It’s a natural move now for Louis to consider things he wants, and buy them if he can. If he can’t, he casually mentions it to Harry, and usually he’ll be surprised with a little reward quickly.

 

He looks down at the price again and cringes. He lets his gaze settle on Harry, watches him bite his lip and furrow his brow as he considers stock prices or some boring shit. After a few moments, Harry glances up.

 

“Yeah, love?”

 

“Did you know OneRepublic is going on tour again?” he drops, as if making small talk with a friend.

 

“Mm, I didn’t.” Harry’s gaze has flicked back to his laptop. He doesn’t really love the band as much as Louis does, isn’t really interested, and he still has an agenda because he was distracted earlier today.

 

Sensing Harry’s disinterest in the subject, he gingerly sets the Mac on the floor and crawls close to Harry. He pokes a finger at the back of the Mac’s screen and pushes the apple logo until the laptop is shut and Harry is looking down at him in disapproval.

 

“Louis.”

 

“Did you know,” he says, drawing out the last word and resting his head on Harry’s thigh, making his eyes as wide as possible, “that they’re touring in England?” He says it with such enthusiasm but Harry just raises one brow.

 

“Are they now?”

 

“Yup. Sixteenth of May.”

 

“Louis, that’s five months out.”

 

“Yeah, but tickets will be gone by then!” Louis whines. He knows he’s bullshitting, tickets will be still available for at least two more months. It’s only the VIP tickets that come with meet and greets and soundchecks that’ll go quickly.

 

“Louis, you don’t need to go see them. I just got you tickets, remember? We’re seeing Justin Timberlake or whatever in February.”

 

“Yeah, but that’s Justin Timberlake! That isn’t my all time, favorite, most loved, favorite, favorite band!” Louis pleads.

 

Harry pauses for a second. “How much are the tickets?”

 

“Does it matter? This is the band of the man who wrote Beyonce’s Halo. Who wrote Leona’s Bleeding Love. He’s written with the Gym Class Heroes and for J Lo. I repeat: does it matter?”

 

“Louuuu,” and this time it’s Harry’s turn to draw out his words. His fingers are splayed out over the laptop now, this close to petting Louis’s hair.

 

Louis’s mouth purses. “You go to concerts all the time.”

 

“Yeah, because half of them are for my clients,” Harry retaliates.

 

Louis sticks out a bottom lip. “Please?” Harry sighs again, so Louis tacks on another for good measure. “Pretty please? With a cherry on top?” He tips his head so that he’s nuzzling into Harry’s thigh.

 

“No, Louis.” Harry’s voice is touched with resignation.

 

“I can add whipped cream and a cherry on top to some other things...” He tries as a last-ditch effort.

 

“Lou, I said no. Now go upstairs, kay? I’m tired. Can’t sleep without my little spoon.” He sounds patronizing, and Louis hates it. He sounds like he’s apologetic and thinks that by being sweet to Louis he’ll still be in his good graces.

 

Louis exhales huffily and sits up, removing his head from Harry’s lap. He gets off the sofa and tries to stomp as he goes up the stairs. He can practically see Harry rolling his eyes, but he doesn’t care. He wants those tickets, and he’s going to get them.

 

He brushes his teeth and slips into the pajamas monogrammed with his initials (birthday gift from a few months back), slides under the rich comforter on Harry’s king size. He sticks strictly to his own side, curled up on the far right of the bed so that if he scoots another two inches he’ll be falling off the bed.

 

He hears Harry come in, wash up. He also hears Harry’s quiet “Jesus fucking Christ, Lou, get over here,” which he staunchly ignores. Harry can cuddle with him when Harry buys him tickets to his favorite band in the world, he figures.

 

Harry shakes his head and falls asleep that night a little bit colder than usual, no cuddly boy slotting against him.

 

When he wakes up, he’s alone once more. Usually he’s got an arm thrown over Louis, or Louis’s feet are tucked between his knees, or Louis will be playing with his hair. But today there is just a text on his phone: “left early wanted to get the bosses coffee” which is most definitely Louis trying to show Harry that one, he doesn’t need Harry to start off his day, and two, he’s such a kind and giving person. Harry snorts, just answers back “k love, see you tonight for dinner. i’ll pick you up from work”.

 

When Harry does roll in front of the office building in the Porsche, he’s a little disappointed to see Louis come out in an old, loose, ugly green sweatshirt. It’s got some summer camp logo on it and a mysterious orange stain on one sleeve-- bleach, perhaps? It’s made worse by being paired with jeans that Harrys swears he’s never seen on Louis before. They manage to sag even on his ass (hard to find pants that will) and his shape, the shape that Harry adores, is gone and hidden. Vanished.

 

Harry gets out of the car and opens Louis’s door for him. Louis slips in wordlessly, ignoring the kiss Harry had leaned in for. Okay then.

 

Harry will just ignore Louis until Louis drifts out of his mood. He’s said no to Louis before, but it’s never gone like this. In fact, Louis rarely actually asks for things, and will sometimes even protest when Harry tries to give him something he mentioned. Tonight, their dinner is civil and Louis laughs at a few of his jokes, but he doesn’t want to split dessert with Harry and doesn’t let Harry feed him with his fork when Harry gets a divine squash pasta.

 

They go to bed that night sleeping with a gap between them that feels like a huge expanse because of the size of the mattress. Neither one acknowledges it, but Harry misses the warmth of Louis glued to his side. Louis misses the press of Harry’s chest to his back when he’s the little spoon, and misses them rolling over so Lou can press his nose to the back of Harry’s neck.

 

The next morning Louis wakes up and wants desperately to stroke a hand over Hazza’s head of curls. He knows just how soft they are, and he plays with one for a few seconds before stopping himself to shower and get ready for work. His closet at Harry’s is filled with great things, and yesterday he needed to borrow old stuff from Greg to wear to find something hideous enough to serve his purposes. He does the same thing again. He tugs on a t-shirt and sweats and calls a cab all before Harry wakes up, trying to ignore the sadness in him as he ignores his favorite white sweater.

 

Considering Harry’s up by eight to start his own professional day, Louis is pretty damn well impressed with himself and his planning. He’s at the office especially early, toting coffee, which does win him extra credit points with his bosses. Greg raises an eyebrow as he hands Louis a sack of clothes. Lou pulls out a giant, light gray pullover that he’ll drown in, and acid washed hippie jeans that are too big on him. He holds them up before stuffing them back in the bag, nodding his thanks to Greg. He takes the bag with him to his desk so he can change again before Harry picks him up.

 

That afternoon, Harry picks Louis up again, but has hired a driver so that he can sit with Louis in the backseat behind a divider. Usually when Harry does this, he’s feeling particularly cheeky and will try to sneak a grope in, citing how great Louis’s ass happens to look in a particular pair of pants. Today, Louis sits on his side, not letting his body mold itself against Harry in the middle seat.

 

When they get back to the apartment, where their meal is waiting, Louis doesn’t lean on the kitchen counters with his arse on display behind him. It’s one of his favorite things to do: prop his chin on one hand, cross his ankles, lean in so that his ass sticks out a little. Harry always ends up peppering little kisses to the back of Lou’s ears or pats his bum every time he walks by when he sets the table, unable to resist showering Louis with affection and attention when he’s so clearly begging for it.

 

Louis can’t deny that he misses it. Harry’s not fallen for it yet, hasn’t given in or reacted to Louis’s actions. He stays grumpy through dinner when Harry tries to chat to him. Harry’s even got Louis’s favorite wine out, is ignoring every frown and just asking boring work questions while Louis stays uncooperative as fuck.

 

If Louis is missing his favorite sweater and his tight pants, missing the Harry that’d treat him like royalty, then Harry is most definitely missing a Louis that didn’t pout. It’s getting right annoying now, Harry unable to even hold a conversation with Louis, who’s just shoveling in his food without making eye contact.

 

Harry’s a little pissed. This may have been cute at first, Louis being all disgruntled, but now it’s downright annoying as he ignores every nice thing Harry tries to do for him. Harry’s more than a little sick of trying to give Lou his favorite wine or talk to him and being ignored.

 

Louis goes to bed early that night. He lazily jerks himself in the shower, wishing that he’s had some form-- any form-- of touch from Harry the past two days. His orgasm isn’t the best he’s ever had and he’s left with an empty feeling as he curls up on the right side of the bed, no pressure against his spine from the boy who isn’t next to him.

 

Harry goes to bed late, only coming into the room when Louis is almost asleep. He doesn’t say anything, just gets under the covers and turns on his side so his back is to Louis.

 

When Louis wakes up the next morning and pads down to the kitchen, grateful for a Saturday morning lie-in, he’s surprised to see Haz at the breakfast bar and not in his home office already. He’s perched in sweats, shirtless, reading a digital newspaper on his iPad and drinking his coffee. He looks good, quite sexy and sleep rumpled. If Louis weren’t still trying to get his way, he’s walk up to Harry and drop his chin into Harry’s hair. It’d smell good and be soft and tickle, and then Harry’d turn around and wrap his arms around Louis’s waist. Harry’d lean in and kiss Louis’s pecs, his abs, and then who knows. It’d be a lovely, pleasurable Saturday morning.

 

Instead, Harry just sips at his coffee, blowing on it to try and make it cool. Louis tries not to be charmed at Harry’s habits of having three small mugs lined up in front of him, one for hot chocolate, another for coffee, and the last for tea. A normal Saturday would entail Louis also trying to sneak sips of Harry’s drinks instead of making his own, but he doesn’t let himself do that today. No, today he’ll get the tickets. He’ll make sure of it.

 

Before he can even try to do anything snarky, Harry’s morning rumble jolts him out of his daydreaming. “Louis, love, why don’t you come have a seat.”

 

“Don’t think I will, thank you,” Louis says. He makes his voice light and airy, like he doesn’t give a damn what Harry’s telling him to do. He makes to slide into the kitchen, planning on poking around for some chocolate croissants for breakfast. He halts when Harry’s voice, atypically cool, draws his attention.

 

“I said sit down.”

 

Louis stops and moves away from the kitchen, slowly gets closer to Harry. He pulls at a bar stool but is taken by surprise when Harry ;oops his arms around his waist and pulls him down so he’s sitting in Harry’s lap. “Let me go,” he half-heartedly whines, kicking his ankle against Harry’s calf. “I wanna get a croissant.”

 

“Don’t think I will, Lou,” Harry says conversationally. He’s got an arm around Louis’s stomach, trapping him in a Harry-cage on his lap.

 

Louis takes in a sharp breath when he wriggles and Harry’s hold doesn’t give.

 

“I think it’s time you snapped out of this little ‘attitude adjustment,’” Harry suggests. He sounds serious, a little condescending, and very, very dangerous. He sounds sort of pissed, if Louis’s honest, and he’s never quite seen Harry mad, at least not at him. Harry hasn’t raised his voice, but there’s an edge in his voice,

 

“You know what I’d need to make me happy,” Louis argues instead. “I’m only asking for the one thing, I don’t need an attitude change,” he tells Harry. He’s not even sure why Harry’s even upset with him, he’s just acting a little like a brat (something not too out of the ordinary, Louis likes it when Harry babies him a little). Plus, all Harry would have to do is buy him the tickets and he’ll be back to his lovely self. Which he sort of wants to do anyways, because he’s missed Harry calling him sweetum and pinching his arse and laughing at all his jokes.

 

“I do know exactly what you need.” Harry’s hand is creeping along Louis’s thigh, rubbing up and down it slowly. “I think you need someone to... snap you out of this.” At his pause, Harry lifts his hand and brings it sharply against Lou’s thigh, causing him to squirm in Harry’s lap at the sudden pain that stings for a second and then fades.

 

“How... how exactly am I going to be snapped out of this?” Louis asks, still ensconced in Harry’s arms but now relaxed into the hold. He can’t help the way he’s sagging back against Harry’s chest because Harry’s gently rubbing circles into his thighs and it’s distracting and relaxing at the same time.

 

“Well, for all your smirks and impoliteness and gratefulness, I think a little punishment may be in order.” It sounds like a cheesy line, but Harry’s scooping Louis up as he talks, and Louis can’t stop the manhandling that’s going on right now as Harry basically lifts him up and carries him up the stairs.

 

“The fuck, Harry, let me go--” he tries, batting at Harry’s back from where he’s been slung over Harry’s shoulder and now dangles. His voice has gone up a little in pitch, perhaps with a little anger or confusion. Harry ignores him.

 

Harry opens their bedroom door and unceremoniously dumps Louis on the bed after kicking the door shut behind him. Louis doesn’t have time to make a move off the bed before Harry’s hovering above him, has his wrists in a grip above his head. Louis’s mouth is like a fish’s now, opening and closing without sound coming out, and his cheeks are rosy, possibly from embarassment of liking this.

 

Harry gently lets go of Louis’s wrists and pulls on the bottom of his pajama shirt, slipping it over Louis’s head when he sits up enough, following Harry’s lead. Harry takes a second to brush his thumb against Louis’s cheekbone. “Turn over.”

 

Louis complies, but not before letting Harry see him roll his eyes. Harry feels a weird mixture of anger at Louis’s bitchiness, but also a sensation of missing his lovely Louis who’s always touching him softly and trying his hardest to seduce Harry on an hourly basis even if just for laughs. He wants that joking, sexy, smiley Louis back. Not this Louis, the one who thinks he can get away with this... blackmailish type attitude. Holding himself back from Harry to get his way. He won’t stand for it.

 

“I’m going to smack you,” he drops softly as he strokes Louis’s bum through the silk pajama pants that cling in all the right places. He slips fingers under the elastic waistband and tugs gently. “Until you get all this backtalk and rudeness out of your system, understood?” He eases the pants down, takes them off Louis so that Louis’s left lying on his stomach on the bed, naked.

 

“Whatever.”

 

Harry’s first slap comes down just below Louis’s left hip. It stings and brings a sharp little yelp of surprise from Louis. The thing about the first hit is that it almost never hurts, it takes a few seconds to feel it. Then it hurts when a slap falls in the same place.

 

Louis crosses his arms and tucks his face in them, still pushing his disgruntled act. Harry can spank him as much as he wants, he’ll still be getting his way. He refuses to react when Harry’s palm slaps across his right arsecheek. Harry keeps going in the same spot, rhythmically hitting Louis.

 

This is what feels good. The thing is, most people are about the surprise of not knowing where the next hit will be. Sometimes Louis goes for that, when Harry will suddenly spread him and slap him on his perineum. The shock of it is hot. But this feels good because it’s not a surprise with each hit.

 

Most people also realize is getting spanked in the same spot makes the skin glow rosy pink, become tender. Louis knows this because he used to try to spank himself, always when he’d have the house to himself and wouldn’t have to worry about people hearing. He’d get on his elbows and knees and reach around and try and smack himself, but what most people don’t know is how after the skin’s been slapped a few times, it starts numbing to the pain and all you want is to push back, find the hand that hits you, try and feel more.

 

In his own experiences, he’d always end up smacking himself in the same place repeatedly until he’d start going faster and faster and try to hit himself harder, but it was never enough. Begging to himself was pointless, and he usually ended up pulling himself off to a heady orgasm and letting himself collapse afterwards, where his raw skin would painfully rub against his sheets, a painful reminder of what he’d just done.

 

Harry knows this is how Louis will react though. He’s trying not to give in, but he’s losing himself to the constant smack of Harry’s hand against his ass. He can imagine how it looks to Harry: his bum just two pale globes, one becoming more red. Jiggling with each spanking, Harry seeing the white handprint against pink skin before it fades.

 

Harry isn’t hitting hard, just short little stings. It isn’t painful, but it’s degrading when Louis whimpers and feels his dick twitch because Harry’s so good at this and knows exactly how Louis likes this, and is using it against him.

 

Harry wants to break him out of his fake brattiness, wants Louis to sob or beg until he’s Harry’s again, grateful for whatever Harry will give him instead of demanding more.

 

He feels himself rocking back, pushing into Harry’s hand every time it touches him, trying to extend the length of contact. He doesn’t notice as he does it, but he’s slowly raising himself onto his elbows.

 

Harry watches entranced as Louis, formerly silent, is now flushed with a light sheen of sweat at his hairline and on the dip in his lower back. He’s biting his lip, like he doesn’t want to let out any noise or change his facial expression.

 

Harry stops for a moment, and Louis lets out a desperate, whiny noise. Harry smiles from behind Louis, who can’t see him because his eyes are screwed up as tight as his fists clutching the sheets below. Harry brushes a featherlight kiss to the tender spot on Lou’s bum, patting his other cheek soothingly, and takes in how hard Louis is. His cock is dark red and hanging heavily now that Louis’s pushed himself up further, no longer in his self-imposed disgruntled position with his head on folded arms.

 

Harry draws back, admiring the sight in front of him. He spanks Louis again, his hand finding a different spot. Louis lets out a strangled moan and his back arches when he tips his head back. Harry smacks him again, still not hard enough to really hurt him, just enough to sting. But he keeps going once more, building into a rhythm that Louis adjusts to and starts rocking into, letting out mmms every few seconds when he goes back, and then forth, back, and then forth. He’s humping thin air and Harry can see now that he’s started to dribble precum from the tip of his dick, which looks close to purple now as Louis’s been clutching the sheets in desperation-- he knows not to touch himself, but he can’t lower himself to rut against the bed because then he’ll lose the rhythm from Harry’s hand.

 

Harry is so, so, hard himself and it’s taking all his willpower to ignore himself. This is about snapping Louis out of his attitude, not about Harry getting turned on by seeing Louis hump back into his hand every time it’s on his ass and moan in desperation.

 

Speaking of, Harry doesn’t want Louis to be desperate necessarily. He really just wanted to push Louis until he dropped the whole queen bitch attitude and accepted what he got from Harry, and he seems to be there now.

 

“Baby, you want to come?” Harry asks, his voice soft and gentle, phrase punctuated by the slapping noise of Harry’s hands on Lou’s arse.

 

There’s a whimpering noise, and then Lou’s nodding his head up and down frantically, and Harry can tell Louis’s biting the inside of one cheek.

 

“You’re gonna have to promise to be my good boy, baby, do you think you can do that?” is all Harry has to say in his quiet voice before Lou’s opening his eyes, the brilliant blue flashing at Harry when he twists around.

 

“I promise, God, I promise, Jesus fucking Christ Harry you’ve got to let me, I promise I’ll be good, I swear it--” Louis babbles, like he’s not even in control of the words spilling out of his mouth, just so desperate to give in to the orgasm that he’s spouting whatever Harry wants him to just to please him.

 

Harry takes a few second before answering, to hold Louis in that moment of suspense where he isn’t sure if he’ll be allowed to, before he leans in close and croons in his ear to “Okay, baby, I’ve got you, you can come now, shhh baby I love you,” and keeps up murmuring nonsensical praises in Louis’s ear as he squeezes Louis’s ass and he drops, smearing come all over the sheets underneath him, and Harry can feel Louis quaking just from where his hands are touching his body. His boy shakes for a good thirty seconds before lying starfished on the bed, fucked out, an occasional little jolt running through him as Harry runs a finger up and down his side.

 

Harry turns Louis on his side, then slots in behind him before he’s releasing himself as well, and Louis chokes out a groan when Harry’s cum splatters against the small of his back, and Harry’s dick is nestled into Louis’s crack as they lay there and try to catch their breath.

 

Harry wipes Louis’s back off with the corner of a sheet and kisses his shoulder. “Sweet boy,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the first knob in Lou’s spine. “Do you feel better now?” he asks.

 

Lou can only let out an mmm as he cuddles himself into a smaller position so he can be the little spoon and have Harry feel gigantic behind him. He falls asleep to Harry gently rubbing circles into his skin.

 

When Louis wakes up, Harry’s still sleeping. He can’t move though because Harry’s arm is draped over his hips. He could move Harry’s arm, but he just snuggles closer to Harry instead.

 

When Harry finally wakes up himself, he can tell Lou’s awake. They shower together, and Louis lets Harry hold him and wash his hair in the shower, lets himself be cuddled into a towel by Harry. Harry slips into the closet to pull on clothes and heads downstairs with a peck to Louis’s lips, promising dinner when Lou got downstairs.

 

When Lou comes down the stairs and into the kitchen, he most definitely is wearing his tightest gray slacks and his favorite soft white sweater, the one with the knit pattern. He looks fucking radiant and Harry presses him against the refrigerator and snogs him, incapable of ignoring such a delicious distraction and abandoning the vegetables he had on the cutting board.

 

Lou lets Harry kiss him and scoots around Harry in the kitchen, pretending to try and help. Mainly he just brushes by Harry frequently, making sure to brush his ass against Harry’s crotch quite frequently. They’re both giggly messes and by the time they sit down to their meal, Harry’s just pleased that Louis is pleased.

 

He sees the way Louis gingerly lowers himself into his chair and feels a tiny bit of guilt course through him, but the way Louis’s smiling at him right now appeases how he feels. Louis looks like he feels brilliant. (He may or may not have his phone out under the table, ordering tickets.)

 

(He just can’t help loving Louis.) He tells Louis that he’s given in when they’re watching some Netflix series, and Louis squeals, jumps up happily and jumps up and down a few times, before climbing back into Harry’s lap and grinding down. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He’s giggling, sloppily kissing Harry all over his face, cupping his face and curling his fingers through Harry’s hair.

 

And Harry doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind, because giving Louis whatever the fuck he wants is just part of loving him. He can’t resist Louis or the temptations to shower him with gifts. (He also doesn’t mind when it excites Louis so much that he gets celebratory sex, either.) (But mostly it’s because he loves Louis and his sweaters and his tight pants and his devilishness and his smirk and the way that he loves Harry back.)

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback... I can't come up with a clever way to say that it's the best thing ever to me, topping candy (which in my life means a whole lot) without sounding a little crazy. Um. But if you'd like to give me some criticism or whatnot, I offer you options: kudos, comments, and my tumblr ask box! Thanks for reading!!


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